


The Silence in the Beat

by Amat



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Symcio, Vishkar - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-13 00:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7955557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amat/pseuds/Amat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Satya came to Rio de Janeiro to bring order and light. Lúcio is fighting to preserve his people's independence.</p><p>The story of how Vishkar was forced out of Rio and Lúcio acquired their sonic technology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silence is a discipline

 

मौन रहना एक साधना है, पर सोच समझ कर बोलना एक कला है

Silence is a discipline, thoughtful speech an art.

 

 

Satya wanted nothing more than to leave. The meeting, which had already run long, showed no signs of coming to a close. The room was cramped, too crowded with bodies and smells and tiny sounds. It was cloying. To make it worse, the atmospheric controls seemed to be malfunctioning. It was at least four degrees warmer than the guidelines recommended.

In the seat next to her, Arjun began tapping the hard-light table with his stylus. Each click echoed in her ears like a gunshot. She clenched her jaw to keep from flinching and cursed herself silently for not wearing her headset. It would at least have muffled the sound.

Underneath the table, unseen, she moved her hands through the _asamyukta hastas_ _._ As she repeated the familiar gestures—right hand, left hand, right hand, left hand—a little of the tension bled out of her. She unclenched her jaw and consciously deepened her breathing. It was fine. The meeting would be over soon. Then she could retreat to her quarters. Her deliciously silent quarters.

Mahi was still talking. She dragged her attention back to the woman. “--production continues to be behind schedule. I suggest that we increase hiring for this quarter. According to my team's simulations, we can meet our production goals with an additional two hundred new hires. We--”

“Two hundred!” Arjun interrupted, brows raising. He mercifully stopped his tapping. “We don't have the budget for that.”

Mahi smiled thinly. “As I was about to say, we can remain within budget if we cut wages by twenty percent.” Mahi tapped her data pad and charts appeared on the wall behind her. “We've projected that this will allow us to meet our quarterly manufacturing goals two weeks ahead of schedule.”

Satya frowned, her hands stilling in her lap. “But what of the workers? We cannot simply reduce their wages. It would be--” She caught Sanjay's glare and trailed off. He'd warned her before not to speak out of turn in meetings.

“I am glad you asked, Satya.” Mahi's grin was predatory and triumphant. “This is where the cooperation of the architech division will be necessary.” Mahi turned to Sanjay, who quickly schooled his face to polite interest. “We have consulted with legal, and the language of the worker contract gives us a nice little workaround.” Satya's stomach knotted. It was no accident that the meeting had run so long, nor that such important business had been placed so late in the agenda. This was Mahi's doing. She had been vying with Arjun for the last two months for the soon-to-be-vacant Vice-President of Operations position. If she could not only meet, but exceed her division's production goals this quarter, and do so within budget, she would be the clear top candidate for the job. It was a masterstroke, really.

“They are promised a total value of compensation,” Mahi continued, “but it is not specified that it need be monetary. Under the terms of the contract, we are free to determine the make up of that compensation, and I believe the most viable option is to enhance the workers living quarters. We will need the architechs to provide the following improvements to each dormitory.” She tapped the pad again, and the charts were replaced by a architectural drawing of the worker's quarters, the additions outlined in red.

Satya's mouth fell open in dismay. “A viewscreen and refrigeration unit? Our generators won't be able to cope with the additional power drain. This was not part of the design! We--”

Sanjay cut her off. “This would require a substantial redesign of the power systems, Mahi. I'm not sure my division would be able to complete the modifications before the end of the quarter.”

“Oh,” Mahi said lightly, tapping back to the charts from before, “I see no need for these items to be powered. Legal assures me that it is merely necessary that they aremade available. Alternatively, if the architechs are willing to install automated electrical shunts, we will be able to implement a policy of rationing daily energy use. Given your team's obviously superior knowledge on the matter,” she glanced sardonically at Satya, “I believe it would be best to allow the architech division to decide which alternative they find preferable.”

Satya carefully maintained a blank expression but her hands clenched under the table. _Neither_ alternative was preferable. Mahi was surely aware of that. Either would be wildly unpopular, and the popular anger would fall on the architechs, not production.

Sanjay's expression remained unimpeachably polite. “I will confer with my division and see how we can best assist in this endeavor.”

“Excellent. Vice-president Dutta is very concerned that this project proceed with all necessary speed. Any delays would not be looked kindly on.”

Sanjay nodded, perfectly calm. “Naturally, we will do our best to maintain a reasonable timeline.”

Mahi's eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't press him, turning instead to address the entire room. “Now, if there's no further business, I believe we all have pressing work to return to.” Mahi looked around, as innocently as if she were not the very reason the meeting had run over. Satya opened her mouth, but closed it as Sanjay turned and glared at her. Next to her, Arjun muttered something inaudible. “No objections, then? Excellent! Meeting adjourned.” Mahi's expression would not have been out of place on a tiger standing over a fresh kill.

Satya stifled a sigh of relief and darted out of the room. She could finally get back to her quarters. As she pushed through the door and into the cool serenity of the hallway beyond, her watch vibrated gently against her wrist. It was a message from Sanjay.

_My office. Three minutes._

 

The door to Sanjay's office closed behind her with a small pneumatic hiss. He looked up from his reading, jaw tightening. He slapped his data pad down on the desk. The sound was as loud as a whip crack. Careless treatment of company property.

“What were you thinking, Vaswani?”

“I was--”

“Not a question. I don't want to know.” His nostrils flared. “What I do want to know is that you will never embarrass the division like that again. How many times have I told you to hold your tongue in meetings? Especially inter-division meetings?”

At least a dozen. Heat flowed up her neck. “I--”

“Let me be very clear. You're a valuable asset to this company. But not an irreplaceable one.” He leaned forward. Jabbed a finger at the data pad. “I have the internal transfer applications of a dozen fresh Academy graduates here, each and every one of whom would quite literally kill for your position.” She knew the wording was intentional. “If I cannot trust you to behave acceptably, I can replace you,” he snapped his fingers, “like that.”

She felt hot and cold by turns, a sour twisting in her stomach. “My apologies,” she said, folding her hands neatly behind her back. “I should not have spoken out of turn.”

Sanjay settled back in his chair, the leather squeaking. “No. You should not have. _Your_ job is bend light. _My_ job is to make sure that things go smoothly for the architech division and, at the moment, you are making my job infinitely more difficult.” He picked up the data pad and tapped away for a minute. The office was so silent she could hear both their breathing, the slightly quieter taps of his middle fingers and the slightly louder ones of his index. He finished and turned the pad so that she could see. It was a Vishkar internal disciplinary citation. “Until further notice, you are on probation.”

A flash of vertigo. The sourness in her stomach was suddenly full-blown nausea. She'd never been on probation. She'd never received a citation, not so much as a written warning. Her record was flawless. Had been flawless. She realized, distantly, that she was shaking.

“Excellent. I'm glad to see you understand the seriousness of the situation.” Sanjay tossed the data pad on the desk again. She flinched. He was going to break it if he weren't careful. “I will begin working with the other lead architechs to begin implementing this ridiculous scheme of Mahi's. You, on the other hand, will be conducting the six month structural integrity review. If you complete that satisfactorily and, _more importantly_ , do not embarrass the division further in doing so, I will remove you from probation. Have I made myself clear?”

“Exquisitely.” Her voice sounded weak. Small.

“Good. Dismissed.”

She forced herself to leave slowly. Measuring each step. The door hissed open behind her and she was free.

For a long moment, she just stood in the hallway, breathing deeply. She needed... air. At the academy or Utopaea she would have gone to the night gardens, heavy with the scent of night-blooming jasmine, moths floating from flower to flower like ghosts searching for milk.

But there were no night gardens here. And they had been told not to wander at night. The development was in an area known as _Jacaré_ , alligator, and she had no desire to see if the menacing name was appropriate.

The roof. That was available for employee use. There was a small viewing platform; she'd designed it herself. It would be open. Free. She could breathe there.

 

The lift spit her out one floor below the roof. She took the stairs one at a time, carefully measuring each step, even though she longed to race up them. Control. Always. Control in all things. She had allowed that control to slip, and it had almost lost her everything she had worked so hard to gain. She would not allow it to slip again.

With a deep breath, she stepped out onto the roof. The wind immediately bit through the thin cotton of her _kameez_ , whipping the ends tight around her legs. It tugged hair free from her slick plait. She had to lean into it slightly to make her way to the railing. The tiny lights embedded in the hard-light turned the silver cloth of her uniform a searing flame blue.

Stretched before her were the lights of the city, glittering like an embroidered sari, interrupted only by the looming shadows of Rio's mountainous bones. From here, the _favelas_ were clearly visible. Their streets wandered like raindrops on a windowpane, a clear contrast to the ordered grids of the rest of the city. And above them, almost washed out by the light welling up from the city, the stars. Even these were foreign. She picked out the newly-learned constellations: the cross, the triangle, the octant.

Nothing was familiar. Satya closed her eyes and pretended that the wind was the only thing making tears slide down her cheeks. This was not her home. She didn't belong here. What was she even doing here?

She opened her eyes. The city below her swam into focus. The erratic streets of the _favelas._ Unplanned. Unorderly. Crowded. Noisy. She could bring them order. She could bring them silence and cool light. She merely needed to complete the task assigned to her. Reestablish her control. Sanjay might think she could be replaced, but she knew he would not find it so simple. She was the best at what she did. She merely needed to demonstrate it. And she would. The inspection was a simple matter. And, if she worked quickly, she could guide the implementation of the changes to the workers' quarters.

She tucked the strands of hair whipping around her face behind her ear, pursing her lips thoughtfully. Perhaps, with a sufficiently energy efficient redesign, the additions could be fully powered from the existing generator setup. If she could improve the refresh rate of the viewscreen's dynamic adjustment by, say, ten percent, it would decrease energy draw substantially. Even better, she could incorporate a small light sensor to adjust the the intensity of the backlight depending on ambient light. And if she set the room lights to dim when the viewscreen was being used, it was possible that she could keep potential maximum power consumption at or below the current levels. Of course, the refrigeration units would also need to be substantially reworked.

She brushed the tears from her cheeks. It was true. She did not belong here. But she was still needed. She knew that was nothing less than the truth. And, soon, Sanjay would know that truth as well.


	2. The wire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Investigating an electricity thief takes Satya into the _favela_ and out of her comfort zone.

Satya crawled along the cramped access tunnel, methodically measuring each joist with a laser level. She hummed unhappily as it flashed red yet again. This was the fourth joist in Mahesh's section that was more than the allowable five millimeters out of alignment. Sloppy.

And potentially dangerous. Hard-light structures were strong, true, but brittle. Tiny misalignments in construction could lead to cracks, or even structural failure. Seismic activity was not a pressing concern in Rio, but the soil was unstable, even with lime reinforcement, and landslides were a concern.

She entered the infraction on the datapad strapped to her forearm and scooted forwards. Her movement stirred up yet more construction dust, undisturbed for months. It already covered every inch of her clothes and exposed skin. Her respirator kept her from breathing in the worst of it, but the smell of hard-light construction—a distinctive blend of concrete dust and burning plastic—was still strong. She could taste the dust, mixed with the salt of her sweat, as she licked her lips. The environmental controls did not extend to the access tunnels and it was sweltering. She dabbed a bead of sweat from her temple. Her hand came away muddy. Satya's lip curled in distaste. As a punishment, this task would not have been out of place in Nakara.

But this would be the worst of it. And she was almost finished. She tried to wipe the dust off her datapad display and only smeared it. Satya sighed in exasperation and scrubbed at the screen with her sleeve. What was a little more filth? Her clothes were beyond ruined already. The display updated with her last scan. A little over three hundred joists remained. It should not take her more than half an hour. Then she could escape the tunnels, stretch her legs and, most importantly, _bathe._

As she moved forward to measure the next joist, something caught at her hair. She froze for a moment. A rat? No, it was not struggling. A dead rat?

Satya tugged herself free, hissing at the sting as whatever it was pulled a few hairs from her scalp. Keeping her head low, she wriggled backwards.

A small black box was clipped onto the electrical wiring running between the joists. A wire emerged from it and ran across the ceiling of the tiny access tunnel and through a hole drilled in the outer wall. Satya sighed. Electricity thieves. It was like being back in Hydrabad again. She reached up to remove the box but paused before she touched it.

Two things stopped her. The first was common sense. She was not grounded. Even worse, her hands were damp with sweat. If the box were improperly shielded... She had once seen a stray dog that had electrocuted itself by chewing through a wire. Could she trust the workmanship of an unscrupulous thief? It was entirely possible she'd only avoided shock the first time by pure luck.

Second. If there was theft, there must be a thief. If she stopped the theft it did not follow that she had stopped the thief. But if she caught the thief! Even Sanjay would find that commendable, perhaps even commendable enough to take her off probation. True, there was some risk. But she was highly trained; surely she could handle any local ruffians. And she did not need to confront the thief, only prove that they were stealing power. It would be simple enough to trace the wire to a building and alert the security.

She shimmied underneath the wire, pressing herself flat to the floor, and marked the position on her datapad. Once she had finished the joist inspection she would find herself a thief.

 

By the time she'd made it back to her room, quarantined her filthy clothes and scrubbed every inch of her skin it was almost five. A golden hint of twilight, the promise of another glorious Rio sunset, was just settling in the air.

She slipped into black, leg-hugging _chudidar_ and a grey thigh-length _kurti_. Nondescript and easy to move in. And, more importantly, not immediately identifiable as Vishkar. She looked at her light manipulation sleeve. On the one hand, it would give her an additional measure of protection. But on the other it was impossible to hide and indisputably an architech's tool. She was preparing for stealth, not confrontation. After a moment's consideration, Satya left the sleeve in its case and slipped a small stun gun into her pocket instead.

She left the compound gates with a curt nod at the guards. The evening was pleasantly warm, not much cooler than home. Significantly drier, however. Rio did not suffer monsoons and Satya considered that one of its few redeeming qualities. Outside the walls, she was immediately assailed by sensation. An ancient motorcycle taxi—with actual wheels and rubber tires—roared past, trailing a cloud of gasoline fumes. A woman wearing a bright green tube top and short white shirt brushed by her and she was overwhelmed by a sudden wiff of her rose perfume.

Symmetra closed her eyes for a moment to center herself. The noise made it hard to find her inner calm. Besides the engines of the ever-present motor taxis, there was chatter and laughter from the patrons at a cafe, the muffled distant pulse of dance music, even a few high notes of birdsong. Someone in a nearby apartment building was watching television at a dangerously high volume.

Focus. She must focus. Control herself and order would follow. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, bringing her awareness to the feeling of her clothes on her skin, smooth and familiar. Another deep breath. This was fine. She was fine. She was in control.

She set off walking along the compound wall. It was less crowded. Few, it seemed, wanted to venture too close to the gleaming hard-light. She passed a boy and his mother. The boy stared, eyes as large as a calf's, and his mother hissed at him, pulling him away quickly. The adults took care not to make eye contact with her. A knot of unease lodged in her throat. Perhaps she was not so inconspicuous as she had thought.

The wire she had discovered was easy to find once she knew to look for it. It was merely draped over the compound wall and tacked to a nearby power pole. The power pole itself was a bird's nest of mismatched wires. Certainly not up to code and undoubtedly a fire hazard. She would have to return at another time to set it to rights. Now, though, there were more pressing matters. Satya peered up at the tangle, trying to pick out the one she was after. Ah, there it was. It looped lazily up the hill, touching off two other power poles and a rooftop before snaking around the corner.

She traced the wire up narrow streets paved with brick and stone and, one one occasion, flattened plastic bottles. It continued up the hill, further and further into the _favela_. A group of screaming children scampered past her, in hot pursuit of a lime green football and she turned to watch them. The view caught her eye. Had she really climbed so far? The sun was almost set and the light of it caught the compound's walls, turning them green as emerald. It washed out the brightly painted colors of the hodge-podge of buildings in the _favela_ as well. For one glorious it was as pure a white and gold as Utopaea itself. She could not help but stare until the light faded, imagining what could be. What new Utopaea they could build here.

Her reverie fell away as the gold turned to blue. She realized could smell meat cooking over the lingering stench of rotting fruit and hear domestic chatter and music through the open windows of the apartments around her. Her stomach grumbled. With a sigh, she turned and found the wire again. It was harder to see in the dark and she cursed herself silently for wasting the last of the daylight.

Fortunately, her destination was not far. She turned two more corners and the wire disappeared behind a gated stucco wall. Satya stared through the gate, bemused. Crowded on all sides by flimsy slipshod construction was a small, and deeply incongruent, oasis. The wall shielded a garden where blooming lilies nodded in the light breeze, the fleshy flowers of begonias clustered around their feet. Palm trees curved elegantly upwards, silhouetted against the early evening sky. She could even hear the tinkle of a fountain. Nestled among the immaculately maintained foliage was a modest mansion: two stories of spotless white adobe, with hand-wrought iron grills over the windows, doors and balcony. The building would not have been out of place in the chicest neighborhoods of Rio. What on earth was it doing here? And, even more importantly, why was whoever lived here stealing electricity from Vishkar?

She took a step towards the gate.

"That's far enough." A hand came down on her shoulder. The hand and voice were both stone-like. Heavy. Rough.

She froze.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing so far from home? Perhaps you have some business with _o_ _Fado, gringa_?"

Her heartbeat was deafening. She couldn't think, couldn't speak. Foolish. Careless.

“You do now, ehn? He does not take kindly to strangers snooping around.”

Her mind shuddered back to life. If she was quick, she could grab the stun gun from her pocket before-- Something hard pressed against her lower back. She swallowed. No matter how quick she was, a bullet would be faster.

New footsteps. Another thug? She didn't dare turn to look.

“ _E aí, querida_! I've been looking everywhere for you! How on earth did you wander all the way up here?”

The gun pulled away from her back.

“ _Lúcio_. You can vouch for her?”

“Of course!” A man stepped in front of her. She only had time to get the general impression of dreadlocks and warm eyes before he grabbed her shoulders and popped up on his tiptoes to plant a kiss on each cheek. She went wooden with shock. “We're pen pals,” he continued, pulling her to his side and slinging an arm around her waist. She wanted nothing more than to squirm away from his touch. She forced herself to remain still.

The other man, who was built like a Tata truck, raised an eyebrow and smirked. He holstered his gun. “Pen pals? You want to write me a letter too, _gostosa_?”

Lúcio made a disgusted noise. “Come on, dude, don't be gross.” He turned to look up at her earnestly. She caught a whiff of his cologne, cedar and lime. “You ready to meet my mom? She's been looking forward to this all week.”

“I--” She opened her mouth to protest. She did not know this man, did not know where he might take her or do with her. But it was almost certainly better than meeting _o Fado_ \--whoever that was. “Yes. Of course.”

“Great! Catch you later, Hugo. _Tchau_!”

The bigger man just nodded. His eyes followed them down the hill and around the corner.

As soon as they were out of sight, Lúcio pulled away from her. Her shoulders collapsed in relief and she took another step away from him. He looked up at her appraisingly. “It's funny. You don't look suicidal.”

"Suicidal?" She was having a hard time processing. The edge of her fear had not yet dulled and everything was too bright, too loud. Lúcio's clothes were impeccably clean, but painfully vivid: toxic lime green and warning-sign yellow. She swallowed. Her mouth was dry as sand. If only she had brought her sleeve with her. She could have constructed a teleporter and been back in her quarters--silent, familiar, cool--in an instant.

"What were you thinking?" Sanjay had asked the same thing. "You go poking around _o Fado_ 's place, you're going to get disappeared. Even if you are Vishkar."

And she thought she'd been discreet. "Am I so easy to identify?"

He snorted. "Please, _gatinha_ , give us some credit. You're not one of us, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out the clueless Indian girl wandering around on her own is probably working for the sharks."

"Ah."

"My cousin told me there was a shark lady lost near here and I knew it was just a matter of time before you got yourself into _real_ trouble. I figured I should come take you home before you ended up in a body bag."

She shivered. She could almost feel the gun against her back. She'd been careless. Again. What was wrong with her? "Thank you." Her voice was so quiet. So small.

"You're welcome. But I didn't do it for you."

She looked at him. Really looked. He did have warm eyes, but now they flashed hard. His jaw set. He was looking past her, and she had the feeling that he was gazing into the past.

"Fancy lady like you gets herself killed in the _favela_ , what happens to the folks that live here? The police or some corporate thugs storm the place. They barge in and start roughing people up, making arrests, breaking windows, maybe breaking bones too. Someone gets arrested. Someone gets shot for looking suspicious. They don't care who's guilty, who gets hurt, just so long as they have someone to drag in front of the TV cameras. Maybe they start some talk about razing the whole place and shoving us in some cheap high-rise again. And we get left to clean up the messes, scrub away the blood, bury the dead."

He finally seemed to see her again and his mouth twisted. "Pull the bodies from the rubble. Fight the fires." She winced. The sabotage, the fire, the deaths, hadn't been her doing. She had to believe that. But looking into Lúcio's unwavering gaze, it was impossible to stop the guilt from welling up within her. "This is my home," he continued. "My family's home. For generations. These are my people and I will do everything I can to protect them. So you're welcome. I'm happy you're not dead. But maybe next time you actually think before you going poking around in places you don't belong, ok?"

She nodded. If there were words for this, she didn't know them. The hot shame, the fear, the terrible closeness of death. The gratitude.

And just like that, the hardness was gone from him. "Hey, you eaten yet?"

She wanted to lie, but her belly was hollow. "I have not."

"Great! You can have dinner with my family." He grinned proudly. "My mama's the best cook in the city."

Satya owed him her life. It would be beyond rude to reject his invitation, as much as she wanted to slink back to the compound, bury herself under her bedclothes and never leave. Maybe then she'd stop messing up. She forced a smile. "I would be honored."

" _Que legal_. Come on, it's this way." He turned down a side street (could anything so narrow really be called a street?). Lúcio pointed to a sheet metal building with a hand-painted sign as they passed. "That's the music school. I teach classes there if you want to drop in. It's mostly kids, but we get some adults in too, especially in evenings."

She imagined the cacophony of classroom full of enthusiastic but untrained children with instruments and license to play them. Satya shuddered. He was far braver than she. "You are a musician, then?"

"Yeah!" His face lit up. "Hey, I've got a set at a _baile_ tomorrow. You want to come? You dance?"

Her thoughts flashed to the hours she'd spent perfecting the exacting _adavus_ , the sharp corrections of her elderly Tamil guru. The shaking exhaustion of her muscles as the pace increased yet again. The chanted _talam_ , the rhythm so strong it entrained her breath, her heartbeat, her mind finally clear as she moved precisely, controlled, back straight, every part of her accounted for: her feet, her fingers, her gaze, the angle of her head. Strength and fluidity through control. Practice. Precision. Perfection. Everything in its place. Every movement expected.

Somehow, she did not think she would find the same satisfaction in the sweaty, heaving press of a _baile_.

"I will mostly likely be otherwise engaged."

Lúcio shook his head. "You don't know what you're missing. It's incredible. You just look out, see all these people, and everyone's happy. Smiling, dancing, laughing. They're not thinking about their bills or how they're going to get to work tomorrow or their dead friend. They're just happy. And if it's your music? Oh man. That's the best feeling in the world." His grin took on a teasing edge. "If you do end up coming some time, though, you might want to wear something a little more festive."

She raised an eyebrow. "My attire is perfectly adequate." And modest, she did not say. These Brazilians had no shame in showing more skin than was decent. Even Lúcio's arms and chest were bare under his baggy vest.

Lúcio snorted. "Sure, sure. For a funeral, maybe." He eyed her. "I've got a cousin about the same size as you. She might be willing to lend you something."

"How generous. I do not, however, believe it will be necessary."

"Hey, you never know. Sometimes even you sharks need to relax a bit. Let your hair down." He shook his dreads and danced a half measure's worth of samba. She would admit that he had a decent sense of rhythm.

They turned down another alleyway. She stifled a sudden flash of paranoia. What if he was leading her to some dark corner to slit her throat? Could she fight him off? He was shorter than she, but far more muscular. And even if she could win the fight, there was the question of finding her way back to the compound. "Go downhill" was insufficient direction in the _favela_ , with its hidden switchbacks and unexpected dead ends.

Before she could work herself into a fresh panic, he stopped in front of a two story building and beamed with pride. "Here we are!" The door was hung slightly out of alignment. The smell of rice and beans wafted out of an open window, along with the happy high pitched screams of at least two small children. Lúcio laughed. "Sounds like my sister brought her kids over. Come on in and meet the _família_."


	3. A família

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satya meets Lúcio's family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your kind comments and kudos! I'm really pleased people are enjoying this. :D

Inside, the apartment was complete chaos. Four children, none of them over ten, were staging a vicious king-of-the-hill battle over the sofa, ignoring the cartoons playing at full volume on the television behind them. Tucked around the corner, the tiny kitchen was full to bursting. The smells wafting from it--spices and garlic and onion and rice--set her mouth watering. An older woman, her hair wrapped up with a patterned scarf, stirred a pot on the stove and was talking over her shoulder to another woman who was chopping peppers with admirable efficiency. A third woman nodded along, crammed at the counter, her hands busily working on something Satya couldn't see. A lanky man, his head completely shaved, was setting the table and keeping half an eye on the children. He spotted them first.

"Lúcio, _mermão_!" He leaned across the table to give Lúcio a warm, if awkward, half hug. Lúcio returned it with interest. Unnoticed, Satya slipped her shoes off and neatly laid them by the door.

" _Tudo bom_ , Carlos?"

" _Bem, bem_. Kids, come say hello to _tio_ Lúcio!"

The battle for the couch promptly ended as the four children swarmed around Lúcio, clamoring for attention. He laughed, reached down and swung up the smallest one, a girl probably no more than three, planting her on his hip. She snuggled against him and beamed smugly down at the others. The two middle children, a boy and girl who looked close enough in age that they might be twins, fought over his legs.

The oldest boy, deciding the scuffle was beneath him, turned to Satya, eyes narrowing. " _Tio_ Lúcio, is this your girlfriend? Are you going to get married?"

Her back stiffened. "Certainly _not_."

The boy nodded, satisfied. "Good. You look like a shark."

Lúcio snorted and ruffled the boy's hair. "Don't be rude, Raul. She's a shark, but she's also a guest. _Mãe_ ," he shouted, "I brought another for dinner."

The older woman emerged from the kitchen, her dark face just tinged with red and shining from the steam. Lúcio kissed her on both cheeks, shifting the girl on his hip deftly as he did so. The toddler squealed and snatched at his dreads.

Lúcio gestured over his shoulder towards Satya.

" _Mãe_ , this is..." He paused, looked over his shoulder with an embarrassed grin. "I'm so rude, I didn't even ask your name."

She stepped forward and offered the older woman her hand. "I am Satya."

The woman tsked, ignoring her. "More strays, Lúcio?"

He replied in fluid Portuguese and the older woman shook her head reprovingly, glancing at Satya, then back to the kitchen. She sighed, replied curtly, then turned back to Satya and finally took her hand. Her grip was perhaps a hair too firm. Lúcio flashed her a thumbs-up and slipped into the kitchen to greet the others.

" _Bem-vinda_. I'm Rosa. And _he,_ " she jerked her chin at Lúcio's back, "is my son."

"Then you have much to be proud of."

"I think you mean much to worry about." She looked to where Lúcio was deep in conversation with the two other women, absently tugging his dreads out of the greedy hands of the toddler on his hip. Rosa's smile was warm but strained. "He means well, though. Like his _pai_."

Satya shifted uncomfortably. The sadness in the other woman's voice was old, but deep.

"I am sorry I did not bring a hostess gift," she blurted out.

The other woman laughed shortly. "Don't worry yourself. Come, I will introduce you to my daughters."

Izabella was the oldest, with a lush figure and kind but tired eyes. She wore her hair in practical box braids, tucked into a high bun out of the reach of sticky hands. Carlos was her husband and the children--Raul, Francesca and Fabricio, and little Carla, rattled off like a telephone number--were hers as well. The other sister, Lorena, had delicate, graceful hands and large, doe-like eyes. She took Satya's hand like she was picking up a butterfly and dropped it just as gently, whispering her greeting. A fresh rose was tucked into the dark cloud of her fro, its scent completely overwhelmed by those of the cooking food.

Introductions accomplished, her offers of assistance firmly rebuffed and her hands freshly washed, she tucked herself out of the way at the dinner table. Now that the initial sensory tidal wave had receded (some kind soul had taken pity on her and switched off the television) she could pick out the subtle markers of poverty. The television itself was practically an antique, with a flat physical display rather than a modern projecting viewscreen. Francesca's shorts--originally intended for a male child, judging by their cut and the screen printing of angry dinosaur; probably a hand-me-down from Raul--had been darned at least twice. Cracks in the plaster walls radiating out from the top corners of the doorframes. If she had to guess, the house's foundation had shifted a good couple centimeters since it's construction. Her suspicion was further supported by the state of the poured concrete floor, which was warped and pitted under the colorful rag rugs.

If she'd had her light-manipulation sleeve with her she could have constructed a frame to reinforce the building's structural integrity and overlaid a perfectly flat flooring surface in minutes. She did not speak up to offer--it seemed unlikely that they would accept the assistance of a "shark".

Finally, dinner was finished, and heaped dishes of rice, beans and what looked liked a stewed eggplant dish were brought to the table. Satya peered at the beans suspiciously and turned to Rosa, who had sat beside her at the head of the table.

"There is no meat in this meal, is there?"

The older woman's mouth twisted. Had she been rude? "No," Rosa said, "if you must know. You're not going to get filet mignon in the _favela_ , no matter what you're used to from Vishkar."

Satya waved a hand dismissively. "You misunderstand. It was not a criticism. I am vegetarian."

"Oh." The older woman colored slightly. "Then you should be fine." She took Satya's plate and begun to serve her. "You like _jiló_?"

Across the table, Fabricio made a face and mimed vomiting.

"Perhaps... a small portion."

Rosa spooned a generous amount of the stewed vegetable onto her plate. "No need to be shy. There's plenty for all."

Satya's mouth watered as her plate was set in front of her. Her hunger must have been apparent. Rosa laughed as she filled another plate. "Eat, eat!" she encouraged. "We don't stand on ceremony."

Relieved, Satya neatly scooped up mouthful of the beans and rice with her right hand. She closed her eyes to savor the complex flavors. Perhaps it was just her hunger, but the spices seemed perfect. Cumin, pepper, just enough heat for interest, and the underlying notes of the aromatics providing a unifying base note. Even the rice was flavored with onion and garlic. Although she preferred saffron, it did harmonize pleasingly with the beans.

It slowly dawned on her that, for the first time since her arrival, the house was almost perfectly silent. In the distance, a dog was barking. She opened her eyes.

The entire dinner table, even little Carla, was staring at her in shocked disbelief. She froze. What had she done? Had she dropped food on herself? She looked down. Her top was spotless.

Lúcio broke the silence. "Uh, Satya? We generally use silverware here."

Francesca couldn't contain herself any longer and burst into giggle. " _Tia_ Satya eats with her hands! _Tia_ Satya eats with her hands!"

Satya could feel heat blooming in her face. How could she have been so careless? It had been discussed in the Vishkar Brazilian familiarization program, but she had allowed it to slip her mind. She neatly wiped her fingertips and picked up the fork by her place. "Ah. Of course. My apologies."

Rosa, who looked suspiciously like she was choking back laughter, patted her shoulder comfortingly. "It's quite alright, _docinho_."

Satya kept her eyes on her plate as the rest of the table was served, taking tiny bites. The _jiló_ was indeed very like eggplant, but with an additional bitter, almost grassy note. Not something she would have chosen for herself (she understood Fabricio's distaste) but she ate without complaint.

The conversation slowly swelled again. Raul had just begun the first year of basic school, and was blithely holding court over his siblings, who were squirming with curiosity. Carlos occasionally interrupted to correct some of the more blatant lies. Carla was especially crushed that there wasn't actually an entire period for petting puppies.

Lorena and Izabella discussed Lorena's tailoring business. Judging by the sewing table in the corner, she ran it out of the house. She'd won the contract for a set of costumes for a local samba school (probably the same one whose blue and white flag held place of pride above the television) but was struggling to find the right color of sequins. Izabella had a friend who might know someone, she'd introduce her tomorrow.

Lúcio, perhaps sensing she felt out of place, turned to her. "How are you liking Rio? You gotten to any beaches yet?"

She swallowed and set her fork down, suddenly embarrassed. "I am afraid I rarely leave the compound." Except for her ill-fated reconnaissance mission. It had been months ago, now, but she could recall it as vividly as if it had been this morning. The roar of the explosion, the heat of it washing over her. The certain knowledge that the men she'd stunned were now dead. The fire spreading, the piercing screams and the choking smoke, and, more piercing and more choking, her own guilt.

She realized she had been silent too long. "There is... much to do," she finished. Picked up her fork and took another bite to hide her discomfort.

"Aw man, that's a pity. You gotta get out and see the city!"

"Perhaps it's just as well," Rosa said blandly. "It's probably safer for your kind behind your walls. For all of us."

" _Mãe_!" Lúcio said, shocked.

Rosa shrugged. "I'm just speaking the truth. There aren't many here who would share so much as a glass of water with the sharks, let alone help one out of trouble." She looked directly at Satya. "You're very lucky."

"I understand that." She began pushing the food on her plate into a perfectly circular ring. "I am grateful."

"If you're so grateful, maybe you can get your bosses to clear out of here. You sharks don't belong here."

Satya stared at her plate. Hadn't she thought the same thing to herself? "I am inclined to agree with you. But I'm afraid it is not my decision to make." She took a deep breath. Dragged her gaze off her food and to the face of the woman beside her. "But I can promise that I will do my best to bring your people order and progress."

Rosa's eyebrows shot up. She snorted in disbelief. "Progress? Order? We're perfectly capable of doing that on our own. We have our own ways. My family lived here before the omnics, long before your Vishkar even existed. And at the very least _we_ know how to use a fork."

Satya pursed her lips. "If your ways are so effective, then why are there armed ruffians on your streets attacking innocent passers by?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Shark." She spit out the last word like a curse.

"Hey now," Lúcio interjected soothingly, laying a hand on his mother's shoulder. She glared at him, but some of the tension bled out of her. "No call for name calling."

Satya looked back at her plate, tucking a few stray grains of rice back into place. Rosa was right. Armed Vishkar agents did sometimes enter the _favela,_ going where the police would not. Especially to enforce the one o'clock curfew. But that was different. Wasn't it?

"If you don't get out much, you must have a lot of questions, Satya," Lúcio continued, gently changing the subject. "What do you want to know about Rio? There's no better source than a family of true _cariocas_."

She tilted her head, considering. Despite Lúcio's assertion, Vishkar's information files on the city were huge, in-depth and constantly updated. The corporation ran on information as much as hard-light and, as they were willing to pay handsomely for it, there wasn't much that escaped their watchful eye.

Which was why the fact that she hadn't even heard the name _o Fado_ before today was so troubling. She considered whether she should ask about him. On the one hand, she might further offend her hosts. On the other... Lúcio was right. If he wasn't in Vishkar's files already, the best way to find out about him would be local informants. Perhaps this excursion would not be a waste after all.

"Who is _o Fado_? Is that..." she wracked her memory of the scant few weeks of Portuguese instruction. "The Fate?"

The adults at the table exchanged unreadable glances. To her surprise, it was Lorena who answered.

"It's a shortening. He is  _o_   _Fado dos dentes_. The tooth fairy."

Satya frowned. She vaguely remembered a European myth about children hiding their teeth to be replaced by money.

"There's a Portuguese saying," Izabella explained. " _Antes dentes que parentes_. Better your teeth than your parents. If you cross _o Fado_ , you hope he only takes your teeth."

"But what is his business?" Satya asked.

Rosa shook her head sharply, jerking her chin towards the children. "Not a topic for discussion at dinner."

“Ah.” Drugs, prostitution, hired killings... it was not difficult to imagine what sorts of unsavory business might have funded the lavish adobe mansion. “Not a local philanthropist, then?”

Rosa shrugged noncommittally. “Ehn, he can be when he chooses. He donated a biotic system to my clinic.” She took a contemplative bite. “At least he's local.”

Satya said nothing. Biotics were very dear. Not even all the Vishkar clinics were outfitted with them. If _o Fado_ was so wealthy he could afford to give them away, what need did he have to steal electricity? And why was he not in the Vishkar files? There was something... disquieting about this. Some hidden variable she did not yet see.

Lúcio deftly turned the conversation to speculation about the upcoming football World Cup and the rest of the meal passed in relative calm. Her offers to help clear the table and help with the washing up were, once again, firmly rebuffed.

“I think it's about time we got you home,” Lúcio said at last, glancing at the clock. “Carlos, mind if I borrow the bike?”

“Help yourself. Make sure you're home before curfew, though. My uncle got his confiscated.” He glanced darkly at Satya. “And a broken arm.”

“ _Pois não_. I'll be careful.”

The children, realizing Lúcio was leaving, gathered around and began demanding hugs and kisses. He laughed and obliged, kneeling to give them better access.

To Satya's surprise, Raul came over to her and solemnly extended his hand. She shook it, valiantly repressing a shudder at its slight stickiness.

“You're not too bad,” he pronounced. “For a shark.”

Bemused, she didn't reply.

Finally, after what seemed an age, Lúcio completed his tortuous goodbyes.

“You ready to go?” he asked, turning to her.

“Very,” she replied, unable to keep a note of relief from her voice.

Rosa held open the door for them. “Satya,” she said with a nod. “Don't take it personally, but I hope I won't see you again.”

She didn't reply, merely bowing slightly.

Lúcio embraced his mother, placing a hearty kiss on each cheek. “ _T_ _chau_ , _Mãe._ I'll see you before curfew.”

And then, at long last, she escaped into the cooler night air, the family's chatter suddenly muffled as the door closed behind them.

 


	4. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Staya investigates _o Fado_ further.

Lúcio disappeared for a second and returned wheeling an ancient motorcycle. What enamel remained on the fuel tank was polished enough to catch the scant ambient light, but it was chipped and flaked completely off in places. She caught a wiff of burnt cooking oil. Biodiesel? Positively primitive. 

Still. Faster than trying to navigate her way through the unfamiliar streets on foot. Dark, too. Street lights were infrequent and, as far as she could tell, provided by civic-minded residents. She didn't relish the idea of being ambushed in the dark by another armed ruffian.

Lúcio tossed her a helmet. She sniffed it experimentally and wrinkled her nose. It smelled of stale sweat and other people's hair products.

"Hey," Lúcio said, catching sight of her face, "it sure beats a fractured skull."

"I suppose." Suppressing a shudder--were lice common here?--she slipped it on. Even with the chin strap completely tightened, it was too loose and shifted slightly as she turned her head. The weight of it and the dark filter of the tinted visor were surprisingly comforting. Almost reminiscent of her own comms headset. 

Lúcio climbed on and pointed at the slightly elevated seat behind him. "Let's get going,  _ gata _ . You ever ridden one of these before?"

"I have not." She could not keep a note of scepticism from her voice.

"Relax, it's easy! You'll get it in no time. Just look where we're going."

Despite the encouragement in his voice, she was not reassured. But it did not appear she had much choice. She gingerly climbed behind him, her feet fumbling for a moment before finding the pegs. For an awkward moment she was uncertain where to put her hands. Surely he didn't expect her to hold onto  _ him _ . 

"There are handles under the seat," he said over his shoulder. She found the thin metal handles and gripped as if her life depended on it. Perhaps it did

"You ready?" he asked. 

The sooner begun the sooner ended. "I am prepared."

Lúcio started up the bike with a roar and cloud of foul-smelling gas, and then they were off. The whole bike shuddered with the motion of the engine, and she could already feel heat beginning to radiate out from the exhaust pipes near her feet. Inefficient. 

They wove their way through the dark streets, avoiding potholes and the occasional pile of refuse with practiced ease. Each correction made the bike tilt alarmingly. She squeezed the cracked plastic and net covering of the seat between her thighs with all her might to keep from sliding about, her grip on the handles white-knuckled. The wind pressed at her unprotected mouth and chin, snatching away her breath as the hodge-podge walls of the  _ favela  _ whipped past at sickening speed. 

She did have to admit, though, they were making good time. They careened through alleys and tiny side streets no larger vehicle could have traversed. She caught occasional glimpses of the Vishkar compound, it's gleaming walls a beacon of safety, and it was closer each time.

Finally,  _ finally _ , Lúcio slowed and rolled to a stop. They were a few streets from the compound gate, but she slid off the back of the bike as soon as it was still. Her legs were weak as a calf's and she could still feel the ghost of the vibration of the engine along her legs and rear. She pulled the helmet off, running a useless hand over her mussed hair. 

"You did great!" Lúcio said, raising his voice over the idling purr of the bike's engine. 

She just nodded, holding the helmet awkwardly. Should she hand it to him? 

"Oh, sorry. The helmet goes under the net." He jerked his chin over his shoulder at the seat behind him. 

Ah. She had assumed the elasticized net was there to help hold the decrepit bike together. She stowed the helmet and stepped back, unsure what to say. 

"I... thank you for your assistance. And hospitality."

He shrugged. "We all gotta look out for each other, right? Hey, almost forgot." He dug into his pocket and emerged with a slightly crumpled business card. "Here," he said, handing it to her. It was in Portuguese, with a small cartoon frog winking cheerly from the upper corner. 

> _ Lúcio Correia dos Santos -- MC e aulas de música _

"Hit me up if you change your mind about going dancing some time."

"Ah. Thank you." She very much doubted she'd want to leave her quarters, let alone the compound, for at least the next week. Still. It was a kind gesture.

"No problem. See you around,  _ gata _ !" With grin and cheeky wave, he revved the engine, turned in a tight circle around her and sped up the hill in a plume of foul-smelling smoke. The blindingly bright colors of his clothes were half-visible even in the dark. She shook her head softly, then turned and began the short walk back to the compound.

 

She woke early the next morning, fighting her way up from a nightmare of soot and smoke. She'd been running through the narrow streets of the  _ favela  _ as the fire grew ever closer, chasing a green frog that stayed just beyond her reach. If she didn't catch it, protect it, it would die. And she couldn't. Couldn't catch it, couldn't protect it, couldn't stop the fire that was going to overtake them both. She was powerless. 

She lay in bed, her eyes unseeing, hands clenched into fists as she tried to calm her heart, her ragged breathing. It was a dream, she repeated to herself, a dream. Dreams weren't real. 

But she couldn't shake the panic, the horrible weight on her chest. It was more than guilt, more than fear. She'd been so careless recently, so foolish. Her control, her focus had slipped too often. She missed the academy. Missed Utopea _.  _ Things were in their place there, each interaction and movement predictable. She knew what to do, what to say, where to go. Here... there was so much she didn't know. She felt like a child, constantly making mistakes, her ignorance like a badge. It was all so different. She turned her face into her pillow, knowing her tears were soaking into it and not caring. 

She wasn't even doing what she'd been trained to do. She was an  _ architech _ , the best the academy had ever produced. She could bend light like no one else, make it take shapes and forms they'd believed were impossible. And now? The compound was completed. All that remained were final cosmetic adjustments (those damned viewscreens and refrigeration units) and inspections. Any first year could have done those. Vishkar was unpopular enough with the local government that the prospects of having additional construction approved were dim at best. There was no need for her to be here. Her talents were being wasted. 

And the worst of it, the very worst, was that some part of her knew that it was her fault. That she was being punished, and rightfully so. If she had only found something on Calado, if she hadn't refused to kill the guards... the explosion, the fire, none of it might have ever happened. And all the bile against Vishkar had fallen out from there: the mayor's public but unproven accusations, the protests, the scathing editorials. No mention of the hundreds of workers they employed and housed, or their almost completely efficient waste management systems, or the free vocational training programs they offered. No, they were all "sharks" now.

Satya made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat and climbed out of bed. It was useless trying to go back to sleep now. The smooth, seamless floor of her quarters was cool, almost cold, against her bare feet. She padded over to the window. Looked out on the  _ favela  _ crawling up the hillside. It was late enough that curfew was in effect; there was little movement among the crowded jumble of buildings. She tried to pick out  _ o Fado _ 's mansion. It was lost amid the welter of unfamiliar streets, though, and she didn't remember her earlier trek well enough to retrace her steps.

_ O Fado _ . There was another thing that bothered her. She turned away from the window and moved to the desk, tapping on her work viewscreen and opening a link to the Vishkar's internal data files. She ran searches on  _ o Fado _ , crime in the local area, prostitution (which was legal, but not generally welcomed), local drug trafficking networks... There was some information, mainly on arrests in the area by local police, but none of it helpful. She found little more in the digitized archives of local newspapers. There were reports of crime, of course: murders, robbery, all the criminal activity that was unavoidable in an organically organized community this large. But there was no hint that some guiding hand might be behind any of it. Odd. Perhaps he was so feared that the very mention of his name was taboo. Although if that were the case, then why was it used with such frequency in the  _ favela _ ?

She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. A crime lord on their very doorstep, and they had no information on him, let alone any hints about why he might be stealing electricity. Unless.. . perhaps she should try a new tack. Start at the source. 

She pulled up the construction schematics for the compound. Yes, she'd help build it, but that had been months ago and she'd been working with a team of other architechs. Despite some of the snide remarks of the other architechs, she wasn't an omnic. She couldn't hold the design of an entire building in her working memory indefinitely. That was what data files were for.

Satya quickly paged through the schematics, looking for the section on the foundation. There is was. She grabbed her datapad, checking the exact location. There. In the southwest corner. She zoomed in to the wiring diagram. Frowned. Checked her pad again. Checked the wiring diagrams again.

There must have been some mistake. It looked as though electrical wiring didn't extended that far down the crawlspace. But it did. Didn't it? She closed her eyes, remembering the wires. The little black box. It had been there. And her notes on the location  _ were  _ correct; she'd been able to trace the wire precisely over the compound's walls. Perhaps... a sudden sickening realization. No. It couldn't be.

She clicked through the schematics. Her hand was shaking, she realized, and under her chair her foot was tapping a rapid staccato. Electrical. Plumbing. Yes, there is was. Internal communications lines. She scrolled down to the page for the foundation. And there it was. She checked and checked again, suddenly doubting herself, hoping against all odds that she'd been careless once more. But she hadn't been. As the cold realization that she could not possibly be mistaken came over her, so did the fear, as sharp as an insect bite. She ripped the power cord from her viewscreen and the blue three dimensional schematics vanished in an instant, leaving her momentarily night blind.

She sat in the dark. Pressed her hand to her mouth, nausea washing over her.  _ O Fado  _ wasn't stealing electricity. He was directly linked into their comm lines.

For a long while, she just... sat there. Sat in the dark. Her mind scurrying back and forth, a rat in a cage. He wasn't in their datafiles because he chose not to be. He might even know someone had been searching for him. Did he know it was her? Did anyone?

And there it was, a realization that broke over her as slow as the swelling dawn. She shook her head, fought against it. But, like the dawn, it was inevitable.

Someone must know. Someone must. She knew. It had taken her less than a day to discover it. And if someone knew, why hadn't something been done? Vishkar took information security very, very seriously. Knowledge--the design of buildings and equipment, curricula for architects--was their stock in trade. It was unthinkable that an outsider should have unfettered access to their internal comms. And yet he did.

Cold sweat prickled down her back. And then there was the second question she didn't want to answer: How had he gotten that access? 

She remembered the crawl space. The neatly drilled hole in the hard-light wall. Or perhaps not drilled. Perhaps the wall had been constructed with the hole already in place. That didn't bear thinking. But the fact remained that, even if the hole had been drilled from the outside, the box on the comm line was far too large to have fit through it. Someone must have placed it from inside the wall. But that was a restricted area. Within the compound's gated, guarded outer wall. Accessible only through multiple security checkpoints and crawl spaces. It seemed almost impossible that anyone who wasn't a Vishkar employee could have found their way into the crawl space and connected the wire. Her mind spun a hundred alternative explanations, each flimsier and more fantastical than the last. The simplest solution was the most obvious one: he'd had help. Someone in Vishkar had tapped the wire.  _ O Fado  _ had someone on the inside.

Which meant...

She couldn't think what it meant. Couldn't follow the threads any further. She needed. She didn't know what she needed. Even here, in the near dark, in the silence, she was thrumming with the intensity of feeling. Her heart was too fast. Her breath was too loud. Her skin was too tight. Someone was sobbing. It was her. Her hands were clenched in the fabric of her pajamas, kneading mindlessly. 

Vishkar was her home. It was safe. Except it wasn't. Not anymore. Vishkar had raised her and shaped her and made her who she was. It was her family. Who she was. Her goals were the company's goals. If the company was compromised, so was she.

Eventually, she began to calm. She forced her hands to release the fabric they were holding. She stood. Her feet tingled as the blood began to flow back to them. 

She breathed. In. Out. 

Her hands tucked behind her hips. Heels together, knees bent, back straight. She breathed. In. Out. Sank into the familiar movements of the  _ tatta adavu _ . The soles of her feet slapped against the floor, creating her own beat as she stepped through the form. Again. Faster. Again Faster.  _ Natta adavu _ . Arms stretched out, twisting as her heel hit the ground, hands forming  _ tripatka _ , the three part flag. Again, faster. Again, faster. And so she danced, moving crisply through the motions that were as familiar to her as walking, her only accompaniment the sounds of her own movement, the deep rush of her breath and the purposeful smack of her feet. This, at least, was familiar. This she knew. This had not changed. 

Finally, slick with sweat and panting slightly, she finished. The grey light of pre-dawn had begun to seep into her room, turning the soft darkness sharp. She peeled her hair off her neck. Look out over the just-awakening  _ favela _ . She was not calm, far from it, but she was prepared to face what was. Her body no longer felt like a prison. 

What could she do? What could be done?

First, she could not trust anyone in the company. Not until she had rooted out  _ o Fado _ 's insider. Whoever had tapped the comm wire had betrayed Vishkar. That was clear. And it was a small step from treachery to violence. She was on her own on this, if she valued her safety.

Second, she must find why. Surely information was not an end in and of itself. He must have some further purpose. She could not imagine what it cost to buy a Vishkar employee, but it must have been far from cheap. It stood to reason that there was something to gain from it. Where was the profit? Selling Vishkar secrets? Bribery? Once she knew the end goal she could put an end to it and alert the local authorities.

Yes. That was the way. She would discover the misdeeds of this  _ o Fado  _ and make sure that he, and whoever was assisting him, were properly punished. She smiled, a small, hard smile. Order would be restored.


	5. Investigating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satya attempts to find _o Fado_ 's person on the inside.

The scent of cardamom was strong enough she could smell it from the hallway outside the mess hall, and under it the earthier aromas of mung beans and rice. Satya smiled, and her pace quickened. There were always complaints when _ganji_ was served for breakfast--it was bland, it was peasant food--but she enjoyed it. It was a little taste of home, even if the Vishkar version was far more luxurious than her mother's. Besides, she dined early enough that she usually had the dining hall to herself and didn't have to listen the any of the bellyaching.

Today was the exception. A man was tucked away in one corner, eating absently as he hunched over his datapad. Sanjay. Her heart sank.

He caught sight of her as she took her food. "Ah, Satya. Join me."

She smiled tolerantly. "Of course." She poured herself a cup of tea and added it to her tray. If she was going to have to make small talk this early in the morning, she needed the caffeine.

He pushed away the datapad as she sat. She caught a glimpse of the internal memo he had been reading. Judging by the amount of italics and underlining, someone was in hot water.

"Morning," he said. "Inspection going well?"

"As well as is to be expected." She scooped up a spoonful of porridge and blew on it for a second, thinking. Sanjay was well connected. He knew as much about the comings and goings of Vishkar personnel as anyone. Perhaps he could help her uncover the mole. "I noticed a large number of unacceptable deviations in Mahesh's work that should be brought to his attention." Including a tapped internal comms wire. "What is his current assignment?"

Sanjay snorted. “You're not the first to notice. He's back at the academy. Remedial instruction. Glad he wasn't my direct report." He shoveled two heaping spoons of sugar into his coffee. "He's actually been gone a couple months. Surprised you hadn't noticed."

She shrugged. "It is not my job to be his keeper."

"True." He took a gulp of his coffee and grimaced. "Bah. We're literally in Brazil and they still serve us this slop."

Satya took a sip of her tea, a lovely Assam the company imported itself, and said nothing.

Sanjay leaned forward conspiratorially, swirling the coffee in his cup. "You know, if you make good time on this inspection and I think I can get you off that quarters upgrade project."

"Oh?"

"Mhm. I don't want to get your hopes up too far, but it looks like R&D may have just made a major screw up." He tapped his datapad smugly. "If I play my cards right, I think we can get their project transferred to the architech division. I think you'll like it, it's right up your alley. Some design work and," he wiggled a hand conspiratorially, "covert stuff."

"That does sound interesting."

"Should be. Just need to convince the contract holder we're the better team for the job." He glanced at his watch and grunted, finishing his coffee in a gulp. "Speaking of which, I've got a conference call in five." He stood, scooping up his datapad. "Need you to finish that inspection first, though. You just do the necessary and leave the rest to me."

Satya nodded in both acknowledgment and farewell as Sanjay hurried out of the room. She took another sip of tea, eyes wandering over the thankfully deserted mess hall.

So Mahesh had been sent back to India. It was a fitting punishment for his shoddy workmanship. On the other hand, he had been her most promising suspect. It was possible that he had been the inside man and being reposted was just been an unfortunate coincidence. But she thought it unlikely. He would not have been her personal first choice. Too incompetent. He'd spent far more energy socializing than working, even in the acadamy.

Who, then? Sanjay also seemed unlikely. She tried to imagine him wriggling through the crawlspace--undoubtedly ruining his perfect coif--and shook her head. Too undignified. Besides, he was high ranking enough that money would be no motivator for him.

Money. Now there was a thought. She sipped at her porridge, barely tasting it. If _o Fado_ had bribed someone that would be traceable. Anyone high enough ranking to have security access would almost certainly be Indian and thus uninterested in Reals. If it was her, she'd want credits. And since Vishkar held employee's credits in trust while they were posted on assignment, they'd almost certainly have gone through payroll.

The problem, then, was going to be getting access to payroll's department-internal databases. She ran her spoon around the lip of her bowl. Payroll was on the second floor. If she worked quickly, she would be ready to inspect it by the afternoon. Perhaps she'd be able to find some way to access the data she needed as part of her inspection.

  


She paused outside the door to payroll, tucking her bangs behind her ear and taking a deep, steadying breath. Lying did not come easily to her. She was so often given away by the tiny shifts of eye and voice, her little uncomfortable movements and fidgets.

But it was necessary. She could do it, and she would.

Settling her shoulders back, she entered the office. The receptionist looked up from his datapad, which was playing a chipper tune punctuated by pops and chimes. She could see the brightly-colored blobs of some mindless game reflected in his glasses.

"Satya Vaswani, architech division," she introduced herself. "I'm here for the inspection."

He quickly flicked off his datapad. "Certainly. What will you need?"

"I shall start with the structural components. But I will also need access to department-internal comm lines. I have been told there are some complaints of sluggish data connections." Her voice was steady. It was, in all likelihood, not even a lie. No matter how fast the data speed, it was almost always too slow for someone. "Could you set up a workstation for me?"

He shrugged. "If you like, but you'll need to wait until someone leaves for dinner if you really need a workstation. I could give you a passkey for your datapad now, though."

She blinked. This was easier than she had anticipated. "That would be most satisfactory."

"Just a moment." He tapped at his tablet for a moment, then grabbed a scrap of paper and scribbled down the passkey. "Here you are," he said, passing it to her. "Let me know if you need any other assistance." His smile was a hair too familiar.

"Thank you. I shall." She took the piece of paper from his hand, scrupulously avoiding touching his hand. "But I believe we should both return to our work." She pursed her lips and he at least had the grace to look embarrassed as she swept past his desk and into the payroll department.

The structural inspection was simple and revealed no deviation from the plans. As it should be; she had been the main architech for this section. Her task completed, she took a seat in the corner and entered the temporary passkey on her datapad.

First, because there was no reason not to, she ran a quick diagnostic on the comm lines. Data speeds were on the low end--the department had greater than normal traffic, no doubt due to processing all of Mahi's new hires--but still well within the normal operating parameters.

Then, fighting the urge to look about guiltily, she pulled up the employee transaction records database. She ran a quick query. External transfers only, last six months, over ten thousand credits. There were only a handful of hits. She scrolled through them quickly. They were almost all property sales, although there were two life insurance payouts. But none had been made to employees posted in Brazil. She widened parameters slightly. More than five thousand credits, over the last year, only employees who had been posted to Brazil at the time the payments had been made. There were about a dozen hits, but none that were suspicious. Selling vehicles, mostly. The only one which was even potentially suspicious was marked "wedding gift". She checked the name. Ram. Ah, that was no surprise then. Ram's wedding had been the talk of the compound. His father owned a munitions factory and the ceremony and reception had been embarrassingly lavish. Seven thousand credits as a wedding gift was incredibly generous, but not suspicious. Satya spent a few more minutes running queries, but she found no transactions that were of more than passing interest. It looked this this was a dead end.

She terminated the connection and began packing away her equipment, biting back disappointment. This had been fruitless. She was no closer to finding _o Fado's_ mole. And, even worse, she wasn't sure what to do next. If it wasn't bribery, then what had he used to turn a Vishkar agent against the company?

Unless... she paused in her packing. Unless it wasn't money at all. She'd considered blackmail as an ends, but not a means. What if _o Fado_ knew something about someone, something bad enough that they'd rather betray the corporation than have it come to light. If that was the case, she'd need to try an entirely new tack. It would have to be something _deeply_ illegal to make it worth the risk of betraying Vishkar to hide it. The corporation took disloyalty very, very seriously. Sometimes even, it was whispered, deadly seriously. She didn't necessarily believe the rumors... but she wasn't ready to dismiss them out of hand either.

If it was blackmail, she wasn't likely to find any trace of it in the corporation's data files. She'd need to try something else. But what? She returned to her packing, teeth worrying the inside of her lip.

  


Back in her quarters, she neatly stowed her gear. With a sigh of relief, she took down her hair, uncoiling her bun and pulling out the pins. She shook her hair loose, letting it drape loosely over her back. As the tension on her scalp released she felt the headache that had been threatening all evening beginning to recede.

Satya stretched luxuriously and moved over to the window. The sun was just beginning to set, the light turning golden as honey. It was only yesterday she'd been watching it set from the streets of the _favela_. Unbidden, she thought of the guard outside _o Fado_ 's compound. The feel of a gun at her back. Lúcio's unexpected rescue. What would _he_ do in her situation? She half smiled and her fingers found his card in her pocket. Probably something well-meaning but naive. Send a division wide memo about the wiretap and ask the guilty party to come forward. Or just talk one-on-one with everyone in the compound. It might even have worked for him. Not her. Satya knew she didn't have the interpersonal skills for that—her instructors at the academy and, more recently, Sanjay had made that abundantly clear to her.

For a second she entertained the idea of calling Lúcio and asking him for advice. It seemed that right now the Brazilian was the only one she knew for certain wasn't in _o Fado_ 's employ. If money wasn't the motivator, no one in Vishkar could be above suspicion. Excepting herself, of course.

Although, a tiny paranoid voice whispered within her, did she really know she could trust Lúcio? The “rescue” might have been carefully orchestrated to lull her into trusting him. She considered it for a moment, then shook her head. No. A plan of that complexity was not feasible. She herself hadn't known where she was going until she was already there. Besides, he did not did not seem the type to use his family as pawns in some political stratagem. And if he was, anyone who could convince four small children to play seamlessly along with a deception of that magnitude was someone she was incapable of outmaneuvering.

Still, she decided against contacting him. He'd said he had a performance tonight. And she didn't know that her call wouldn't be traced or listened to. She couldn't trust any of the Vishkar equipment. Nothing that might have been discussed over company-internal comm lines.

None of the equipment the company knew about. Satya had a sudden spark of an idea. She turned, grabbed her hard-light manipulation sleeve from its display case and pulled it on. It was a relief; almost like reattaching her hand. Her fledgling idea would need more than a little feathering out. It required an entirely new hard-light design, one with very little room for error. She flexed her fingers in anticipation. Good. It had been far too long since she'd had to truly put her capabilities to the test. Satya grinned, filled with sudden optimism. Clearing her desk, she flicked her hair behind her and set to work.

 

It was late enough that she was fighting back jaw-cracking yawns by the time she had a prototype she was happy with. She picked the device up gingerly between two fingers, holding it up to the light. It wasn't entirely clear, but it was translucent enough to be almost invisible when stuck on a wall. Satya squeezed it once, turning it on. She tapped her comms visor with her other hand, switching to a new channel, one outside of the range used by Vishkar personnel. Digital snow played over her visor for a second and then was replaced by her own face, the tiny camera in her hand relaying a live video feed. She smiled, and she watched herself smile. Perfect.

The power source, transmitter and camera were standard enough, but on a scale that had not been previously attempted with hard-light. Together they weighed less than a gram, and could sit comfortably on top of the nail of her pinkie finger. It was perhaps her finest work to date. A pity she could not share it with her fellow architechs. Ah well. Time enough to share it once this criminal was caught.

Another yawn rolled over her. Satya slipped off her visor and rubbed at her eyes. It had been a long two days, and she had barely slept last night. First, she needed to rest. But tomorrow? Tomorrow she would set her web. The access tunnel, gates, security checkpoints... she would give herself a thousand unblinking eyes. And she _would_ find the traitor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments! You have no idea how encouraging they are. :D
> 
> Next chapter will probably be up a little bit later than usual; I'm going to be out of town all week.


	6. Rã

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News and a discovery.

Satya awoke the next morning to the prim chirp of an arriving message. She yawned, groping for her watch. It chirped again. And again. Someone was desperate for her attention. She found her watch and, seeing who the messages were from and the time, stifled a groan. It was far too early to work herself up to dealing with Sanjay. 

Her watch chirped again and she hauled herself up with a sigh. Keeping him waiting would only make him irritable. She opened the conversation, digging sleep grit out of the corner of her eye with her ring finger

_ Interdivision meeting this morning.  _

_ You need to be there.  _

_ Meet in my office, half an hour.  _

_ Have some things to go over with you first.  _

He needed her at an interdivision meeting? After the last one had gone so poorly? Her scalp prickled with the remembered embarrassment of Sanjay's scolding. She would honestly rather spend the morning running through the chaotic streets of the  _ favela _ being chased by one of  _ o Fado _ 's thugs than attend an interdepartmental meeting. For a second she was sorely tempted to ignore the messages and go back to sleep.

Then she remembered her probation. She probably wouldn't be dismissed entirely if she received a citation, but it was likely they'd repost her back to India. Just like Mahesh. For a shameful moment she considered it. Would it really be so bad to go home to Utopea? To see her family? 

But no. As much as she might miss home, if she was reassigned she couldn't catch  _ o Fado _ 's mole, and then whatever damage they caused would be on her hands. What if he stole Vishkar technology and sold it to arms dealers? Or, even worse, used it to attack innocent civilians himself? Surely attending one short meeting wasn't too high of a price to pay to prevent that from happening.

With a groan of defeat, Satya wearily drug herself out of bed and begun to prepare for the day. If she was quick she might even have time to grab breakfast. 

Some twenty-eight minutes later, she was in front of Sanjay's office door. After a moment's hesitation, she pressed one of her small cameras onto the wall near the door frame. She swallowed a wisp of guilt by telling herself it watching the hallway, not the door itself. And the hall was public space. It wasn't like she'd placed a camera in his personal quarters. Satya squared her shoulders and knocked briskly on Sanjay's office door. 

"Enter!" His voice was muffled by the office door. She pressed her hand against the slightly sticky biometric reader and, after a second, the door hissed open. 

Sanjay ignored her for a minute, peering into a pocket mirror as he smoothed a few errant hairs. He stowed the mirror away, finally, and looked up. 

Sanjay sighed theatrically. "I'll be very blunt, Satya. I'm nervous about having you at this meeting. Your performance at the last interdepartmental meeting was far from commendable." 

Her lips thinned. Then why had he insisted that she come? 

"That said, you do need to be there. There will information discussed that you need to know." Sanjay leaned forwards, steepling his fingers. "So let me make my instructions very clear. You are  _ not  _ to speak up in the meeting unless I address a question specifically to you. If anyone else asks you anything,  _ I  _ will answer on behalf of the division. Things are very delicate right now, and if we have any hope of snagging that project from R&D things must be handled correctly. Have I been clear?"

She nodded. "Exquisitely."

"Good. You've been making good progress with the inspection. Do not jeopardize it."

"I shall not." She bit down her frustration. He was speaking to her like a child.

"See that you don't." He stood, gathering his things. She waited. Silent. Sanjay so often required her silence. She would be lying if she said it didn't chafe. She might not be... overly politic. But neither did she talk just to hear her own voice. It was stifling not to be able to speak her truth. 

Even so. She must put her faith in Sanjay. He had, after all, secured the Rio contract. HIs methods might not always be entirely to her liking. But they did get results. 

So Satya followed in silence as he led the way to the meeting room. There were early, but far from the first to arrive. She took a seat against the wall, as far away as possible from Arjun. He was already fidgeting with his watch clasp, quickly snapping it open and closed as he stared his datapad propped up on the table in front of him. 

Sanjay sat across from her and shot her a stern glance before turning to chat with the woman sitting next to him. Satya folded her hands in her lap and stared at them intently to avoid being drawn into any conversations. Not that she had to try very hard. She wasn't close to any of the managers or division heads. In fact, she wasn't very close to anyone in Rio. With Mahesh gone there were only two other architechs in the compound--Pooja and  Vivek--and neither of them particularly liked her. Pooja had been in her year the the academy and chafed at the fact that Satya had so consistently come first in every class. She hadn't been the only one to feel that way, but she had probably been the most vocal. And Vivek had been cold to her since she'd publicly corrected his hard-light manipulation technique during the compound build. She'd apologized to him at Sanjay's behest, but the damage had been done. Ever since he had been exactly as cordial to her as politeness dictated. 

In fact, if she were perfectly honest with herself, she did not have a single friend in Rio. Lúcio's face flashed into her mind but she dismissed it just a quickly. He hardly knew her. She would hesitate to call him an acquaintance, let alone a friend. The conference room was almost full, the morning chatter swelling like birdsong, and she felt suddenly, painfully, alone.

"Alright, I think it's time to get started."

Satya looked up in surprise and Rajesh's announcement. Why was corporate security leading the meeting? For a moment, hope sparked through her. Perhaps secuirty did know about  _ o Fado _ and his attempted infiltration was about to be discussed and dealt with. Perhaps her fears were unfounded and she'd been working alone for no reason.

Rajesh tapped his datapad and her hopes crumbled and scattered as a grainy picture of a person wearing an oversized frog mask was projected on the wall. The lighting was odd, low and slanted, and the person's hands were busy with something that had been cropped out. 

"I'm not going to try and sugarcoat it. This frog is a major problem."

There were some scattered snickers, but they quieted at the gravity on Rajesh's face.

"This is a Brazilian DJ who calls himself Rã, or frog. He's fairly well known in the city of Rio, especially the  _ baile  _ scene, but, until recently, that was the extent of his fame. Then, last night, he uploaded this."

A tap at the datapad and she realized the photo was actually a still frame from a music video. The odd lights were strobes that began flashing as a beat swelled. Satya supposed it might be catchy, if you enjoyed that sort of thing. The camera zoomed out, revealing turntables and a heaving crowd of dancers dressed in colors as bright as tropical birds. Rã raised a hand and, for a heartbeat, the lights and beat paused. Then his hand and the beat both dropped, with lyrics in rapid-fire Portuguese spat over the thumping bass. She had trouble following any of it. She had no trouble, though, catching the word "Vishkar". Repeatedly. 

Rajesh paused the video. "I won't make you watch the whole thing. It's mostly slander, directed entirely against our corporation. Which is worrying enough in itself. Our real problem, though, is that it's gone viral."

A tap at the datapad and chart showing searches for "Rã Vishkar" was projected on the wall. It had spiked the previous evening and was still climbing. 

"This is popular enough that it's affecting our public image. In the digital realm right now, Vishkar is roughly as unpopular as cockroaches." 

Another tap, and sentiment analysis for "Vishkar" was laid over the chart. It cratered at around the same time the searches spiked. 

"We've lost control of the public conversation about Vishkar. I don't like to use the term 'crisis', but this warrants it. The Namibian government has already stopped talks about our development there and we lost one local manufacturing contract here in Rio this morning, with two more threatening to leave unless we offer more favorable rates. Our stock is down twenty points, and we're projecting an even greater loss once Tokyo opens." Rajesh looked around the room, deadly serious. "Right now, this DJ is the single biggest threat to this corporation. If he continues to release anti-Vishkar content this popular, I genuinely don't know that we can survive another year."

Satya clenched her hands tightly around each other to keep them from shaking. She swallowed. It seemed... it seemed preposterous. One impertinent Brazilian musician could tell a few lies and the whole institution shook. What of the good they'd done? What of the order they'd brought, the law they'd given the  _ favela _ ? It wasn't perfect, true, but Vishkar had brought good jobs and education and opportunity for these people to lift themselves out of the squalid poverty they lived in. Like she'd lifted herself, on the wings of her architech training. Did they  _ want  _ to live under the thumbs of crime lords like  _ o Fado _ ? 

She didn't want to believe it. Didn't want to believe the ingratitude. Didn't want to believe that this... ridiculous street person was a real threat to everything they'd worked so hard to build. Another threat. As if  _ o Fado  _ weren't enough. Satya stared at her hands in her lap. Her knuckles were white under the duskiness of her skin. It was like she was trying to climb a hill of wet sand. Everything was crumbling and unstable beneath her, changing faster than she could regain her footing. 

"This is where we'll need the cooperation of the architech division." Rajesh's voice snagged at her attention. She looked up. He was looking at her. "An informant has told us that Rã will be playing in Jacaré tonight, and that the concert will break curfew. Satya, we'll need you to lead a raid to apprehend this DJ before he can do any more damage."

A raid. It was something she could  _ do _ . That she knew she could do. Had done before. Those human traffickers in New Delhi. The poachers in Bangladesh. (Calado's office, the explosion, those men who died, the fire, the smoke... No. She would not think of that.) She nodded. Didn't answer. Sanjay cut in smoothly. "We're happy to lend any assistance security requires. This is clearly of primary importance." 

"Good. The briefing will be here at 20:00." Rajesh looked around the room. "The rest of you, I need you to ask your divisions to keep their eyes and ears open. We've received quite a few threats. Make sure your people are aware and alert." There were nods around the room. Grim faces. Even Arjun had stopped his fiddling, his brow knit with concern. If the company collapsed... all of them would be out of a job, of course. But it was more than that. The company was their family, their home. Without Vishkar, she wasn't sure what she would do. What any of them would do. Without Vishkar there was no hard-light, no architechs. And there was nothing else for her. She was too out of practice to go back to dance. Had never learned anything else. Her mouth was dry but she could feel the prickle of nervous sweat under her arms and down her spine. 

Rajesh nodded, satisfied that he'd impressed them all with the seriousness of the situation. "We've already started damage control, but I don't want to make any promises. The best thing we can do is all get back to work. There will be some hard times ahead, and we'll all need to do our best if we're going to get through them." There was a moment of uneasy silence. He tapped his datapad and the chart on the wall disappeared. She'd been staring at it hard enough that it left a slight ghost of an afterimage. "Dismissed." 

 

Satya was curled up in bed, watching surveillance footage on a datapad she'd propped up on a pillow. Sanjay had insisted that she take the afternoon off to rest before the raid. Point of fact, he'd wanted her to take the whole day off, but she'd argued that keeping to her routine was important amid all the uncertainty. He'd reluctantly agreed. Which was fortunate: she'd needed the cover of her inspection to place her cameras. Over the course of the morning, she'd placed more than two dozen around the compound. Now, she finally had time to to sit and go through her recordings. 

Even with the videos playing at ten times speed, though, it was extremely slow going. It was...possible that she'd underestimated how long it took to carefully review surveillance footage. She sighed, biting into a crisp  _ thatti _ and shifting into a more comfortable position. 

The footage she was reviewing now was for the compound's main internal security checkpoint. She'd quickly despaired of learning anything use from the anthill bustle around the main gate. There were too many people coming and going--workers and their visitors, deliveries, cars carrying higher-ranked employees to appointments elsewhere in the city. This security checkpoint, however, was less frequented, and it was necessary to pass through it to get access to any of the crawl spaces. And, since the motion sensor she'd put inside the crawlspace entrance hadn't gone off, the internal security checkpoint was probably the best place to spot any suspicious activity. It was even more important she be vigilant today, after the threats they'd received.

Satya took another bite, enjoying the sharp heat of the pepper baked into the cracker. She carefully picked up the single crumb that fell to her bedclothes and flicked it to the floor. The sweeping bot would get it. 

The two security guards posted on the gate were still chatting with each other, their mouths flapping comically fast in the sped up footage. One pulled a package of dried betel nut from a pocket, opened it, offered it to the other, and then began chewing with the speed of a caffeinated rat. Satya pursed her lips reprovingly. Most unprofessional. 

A group approached the checkpoint. Satya paused the video and leaned forward,  frowning. Two men and two women, and she didn't recognize any of them. If she had to guess, she'd say they were locals. The women and one of the men were all solidly muscled, and their humourless roving eyes and just-baggy-enough clothing screamed bodyguard to her. The other man was older and a little heavyset, with a full beard. He was wearing an immaculately tailored suit with a fuchsia shirt that looked like pure silk. Clearly the bodyguards were here to look after him. Whoever he was. 

Satya racked her memory. Had anyone said anything about entertaining any local dignitaries today? She didn't believe so. And even if some local politician had been planning on visiting today, surely they would have cancelled in light of the threats. She knew he wasn't someone who held a manufacturing contract with Vishkar. Sanjay had made sure she knew the contract holders by sight to avoid, in his words, any embarrassments to the corporation. All of which begged the question: who was this man? And what was he doing in the compound? 

She unpaused the video. The security guards, at least, seemed to recognize him. They ushered him through with deferential bows and not so much as a patdown. The bodyguards followed, eyeing up the guards dismissively as they squeezed through the checkpoint. After they'd passed, one of the guards looked after them and said something. The other nodded in agreement, rubbing nervously at his shoulder. Satya cursed herself quietly for not including a microphone in her cameras.

She grabbed the footage of the group and copied it into a separate file. Then, noting the time points, she tried to track them through the compound. There they were arriving at the main gate, in a low-slung armoured car. And, of course, she'd seen them pass through security. A minute later, the whole group had squeezed into a single lift. But after that she lost them. Satya worried at her lip. She hadn't placed cameras on every floor. They could have gone to any of a dozen places. Done who knows what. Satya returned to the footage of the security checkpoint and zipped through it, looking for the group's passing back through. There they were. They'd been in the compound, she glanced at the time stamps, a little over an hour. They left out the front gate directly after. She grabbed all the footage and stuck it into her folder.

Satya worried at her lip with her teeth. Who was this man? What business did he have with Vishkar? Did he have some relation to  _ o Fado _ , or even Rã? And, more to the point, how could she find out? 

Option one was simply ask the security guards. She couldn't know that they hadn't already been compromised, though, and that could put her in immediate danger. Option two was to wait and see if he returned and confront him then. That was foolishness and she knew it. Even  if he did return and she managed to find him, if he had something to hide his bodyguards would make sure it stayed hidden, and if that meant disposing of her so be it. Option three was to take this to Sanjay or corporate security. Again, though, she didn't know that they hadn't been compromised. Option four... she sighed, trailing her fingers through her loose hair. Option four was to contact a local to see if they could identify the man. And she only knew one of those. As distasteful as she found the idea of reaching outside of Vishkar for help, it did look like calling Lúcio was her only viable option. Once she had a name, she comforted herself, she would have a clearer idea of how to proceed. The man might even just be a new client and running his name would tell her that. If he weren't, though... If he weren't, she was one step closer to bringing justice to  _ o Fado _ and restoring order within the company. It needed it, now more than ever. 

With a resigned sigh, she grabbed her personal communicator and entered Lúcio's contact information. It would be quickest just to send him the video footage, of course, but if anyone was monitoring her communications it would tip her hand.

_ Would it be possible to meet tomorrow afternoon? -- Satya _

She sent the message and immediately began second guessing herself. Was that too impersonal? Or worse, too personal? What if he misconstrued her invitation? She hurriedly typed a second message. 

_ I have some questions about local culture _ . 

There. That should help avoid any... miscommunications about her intentions. She set her communicator aside but immediately had to pick it up again as it chirped the arrival of a new message. It was from Lúcio. He was certainly prompt, she'd give him that

_ ofc! know a great coffee place _

Another chirp as he sent her the gps coordinates. Thank goodness. Street addresses in the  _ favela  _ were haphazard at best. It was something Vishkar would eventually remedy. 

_ 2 pm ok? _

That would give her more than enough time to recover from the raid tonight. 

_ Perfectly satisfactory. My thanks. _

_ great! t+ _

T+? Mystifying. Satya sat her communicator aside and returned to monitoring the footage. She had no time to waste if she was to review it all before the briefing. Even as she watched, though, she couldn't stop a certain amount of grim hopefulness from welling up within her. For all the upsets and setbacks of these last few days, it finally felt like she was regaining some measure of control. First she would stop this Rã from spreading any more slander, and then she would discover who the mysterious man in the pink shirt was. If she was lucky, his presence in the compound was just the opening she needed to put  _ o Fado _ in his place. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The real mystery here is whether Lúcio uses somewhat dated Brazilian internet slang seriously or ironically.
> 
> Sorry for the wait on this chapter! Updates may be a little slower from now on, but I do 100% plan on finishing.


	7. The Raid

The van hit a bump and the the man sitting next to her jogged her arm, his bulky tactical armour digging into her shoulder. He pulled away with an apology and she smiled tersely. It was hardly his fault. They'd had to squeeze the whole strike team into a van small enough to fit through the narrow streets, tight as eggs in a carton. Hopefully less fragile, though. She needlessly adjusted her hard-light manipulation sleeve. The oil-slick sheen of the shields she'd applied earlier caught the dim light in the van with her movement. She tapped her comms visor on and quickly double-checked the seven others in the van. Their shields were all intact. Of course. Why shouldn't they be? She'd applied them just before they loaded in.

And her photon projector? She flipped it in her lap, carefully inspecting it. It was fully loaded and looked correctly calibrated. But what if the jolting of the van had somehow elevated the energy levels? She checked it just before they left, of course, but accidents did happen...

Satya frowned. She was fretting. It was a useless waste of her energy and attention, of course it was, and yet she kept falling into the same circular worries. She pinched delicately at the bridge of her nose, just under her comms visor, and sighed deeply.

Yes. Her last mission had been a failure. (Worse than a failure, a disaster, the smell of smoke and dust, the boom of the explosions louder than she would have thought possible, and those men, they'd had families, how many birthdays had they missed in the last six months?) But this one would not be. She need merely clear her mind and focus on the task at hand. The agents with her were highly trained; some of Vishkar's best. And besides, this should be relatively simple. How dangerous could a DJ possibly be?

The van rolled to a stop. Satya shook her head slightly to clear it. It was time.

The strike leader looked around the van, quickly catching each of their eyes in turn, checking that they were ready. She turned to Satya, who nodded once. Yes. She was prepared.

The strike leader flicked three fingers in the air. Two. One.

They opened the door to the van, and cool night air and muffled music flooded in. The team filed out. Quickly. Silently.

Satya's head swiveled as she stepped out of the van, orienting herself. They were in an alley that passed as a main road. Now parked, the van blocked it completely.

There was the warehouse. Its walls were a patchwork of sheet metal and reclaimed wood. A sign hung over the door, carefully hand-lettered with a cheerful smiling box drawn in the upper corner. The music playing inside was loud enough that it shuddered very slightly with the beat. With quick, deft movements she placed small sentry turrets down either side of the door. They were set to stun, but this number would immediately incapacitate anyone without a Vishkar ID tag who tried to enter or leave through this door. She could guarantee they wouldn't be flanked. Finished, she signaled the raid leader, who nodded silently in acknowledgement.

The music faded slightly, enough to hear voices and laughter from inside. Her visor's time display showed 1:17. After curfew. But it would be hard to press charges if they were just wrapping up now. A new song started and the volume swelled again, if anything slightly louder than before. The clock ticked to 1:18. 

Someone--so hard to tell who with their comms visors on--tapped her on the shoulder, pointed. The rest of the team was in position. She nodded her thanks and fell in behind them, switching the safety off her photon projector. The two men in front lifted the small battering ram. (Although, looking at the warehouse, it seemed like a stiff breeze would have been just as effective.) The strike leader--what was her name? Vanja?--held up three fingers. Two. One. Go.

The door crumpled under the first blow of the battering ram and the frenetic flashing of strobe lights spilled out into the alley. The team darted in two at a time, weapons raised. Someone screamed, the sound muddied by the punishing volume of the music. Satya entered last. Everything inside was a heaving confusion, pushing and panic.

Three people darted past her out the door and instantly crumpled under the electric sizzle of her turrets. One two three, fast as danced footsteps. Satya ignored them. They were not her mission.

Her mission was Rã. Where was he?

There was the stage, the mixer. And, yes, there, the gleam of the frog mask in the flash of the strobes. She raised her photon projector, shot off a small orb of energy. It drifted towards the DJ, deceptively delicate, slow as a dandelion seed. He could dodge it easily. That was no matter. It was merely a distraction, to give her time to get to him.

She tried to push through the dancers to the stage. The crowd was thick as honey, though, the press of bodies almost impenetrable. Two of the strike team members fell in front her of unasked. The ploughed through the half-clothed crowd easily, their progress made jerky by the intermittent light. She plunged after them. Closer to the speakers she could feel the shudder of the bass in her lungs, her belly.

Her shot finally landed, connecting with a speaker and sending up a small shower of sparks. The music distorted instantly, the highest notes disappearing, sounding muffled but no quieter. There was more screaming now, a mad push away from the stage, the crowd breaking around the strike team like a waves against rocks. Her comms visor blinked suddenly, her sentry turrets activating again. In her peripheral vision she could just catch the electric flash of their beams. A man's howl of pain, cut short almost before it began. Fools.

The first of the strike team, Satya thought it might be the leader, reached the stage, began to climb up. The blank eyes of the frog turned to her. She held up her Vishkar badge, pointed to the legend "curfew enforcement" under it.

Rã took a step towards the strike leader. For a breathless moment it looked like he might come without a fight. Then there was a flash of almost uninterpretable movement, his hands finding the ground, his legs sweeping up and around. One foot connected with her head and she went slack. Fell backwards off the stage. One of her team members dropped their weapon, dove to catch her.

Rã vaulted over the mixer. Dashed off the stage in the other direction. Satya fired another orb after him. The crowd split to avoid it and she darted through the opening.

He'd almost reached the other exit, this one unguarded by her sentries. A strike team member grabbed him in a flying tackle. A brief struggle, impossible to follow in the confusing light, and the frog was free again. The side of the mask had been beaten in, dented like a tin can. He pushed toward the door.

She was sprinting. Her shoe slipped on the concrete floor, a spilled drink. She caught herself, scrambled to her feet. He had almost escaped. With a curse, she dropped her photon projector. Shaped a hard-light door to block the exit. It crystallized into being just as he reached the doorway. The frog mask smacked into it almost comically. Rã stumbled back. Turned and kicked at the door she'd made. It was shoddy, ill fitted in the frame. His blow didn't break it, but did knock it askew. He tossed off the mask, revealing a baggy green hat, and squeezed through the space. Quick as a snake.

Satya dove after him. A woman grabbed at her, tugging at her clothes, fingernails raking at her face. Satya ducked and twisted away. A Vishkar agent grabbed the woman and pulled her off Satya. She pivoted back to the door. She'd wasted precious seconds. Satya pushed through the door after Rã, the unfinished edges of her quick creation scraping down her hard-light manipulation sleeve. Then she was outside, the flashing of the strobe suddenly gone.

And so was Rã. Her head swiveled. She scanned the rooftops and doorways leading off the alley. Nothing. It had only been a second. He must be close. A moments' hesitation and then she turned and sprinted up hill. Almost skidded around the corner. Nothing. The street was empty. Quiet but for the muffled music that was still playing in the warehouse. Satya pressed her wrist to her mouth. Her pulse kicked against her lips. She'd lost him. She'd failed. Again.

She turned and walked back to the rest of the team, dejection weighing down her steps. Back in the warehouse someone had, mercifully, turned off the music and strobes. Under the harsh glare of the florescent lights it looked shabby, worn down.

The strike team members were processing the dancers who remained, handing out citations and fingerprinting the few who weren't in Vishkar's system yet. Those who had been unfortunate enough to meet her sentries had been carried inside and laid in a neat line. They'd come around soon enough.

One of the strike team members handed her her photon projector. She nodded her thanks absently. She barely even remembered having dropped it.

Vanja was leaning against the stage, holding an ice pack to her head as the team medic checked her eyes. She saw Satya and raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"Rã has escaped," Satya told her stiffly. "I apologize. I was not fast enough to catch him."

"Eh, I did not expect that you would catch him." Her accent was Eastern European. Serbian, maybe? Satya remembered her personnel file listing her as a veteran, no doubt from the omnic wars, but the rest of the details escaped her. "Even if you did catch this frog, how would you hold him, heh? My apologies, but I don't think you could take him in unarmed combat." She adjusted the icepack on her cheek, hissing slightly through her teeth at the pain. "I have not been cold clocked like this since I was recruit." She clicked her tongue. "If anyone is to fault here it is me. You performed admirably Viswani. I shall tell Sanjay this."

"I don't think you're concussed," the medic interjected, "but I want to keep you under observation."

" _Da, da_. Always with the observing, Channan."

The medic pursed her lips, tidying away her kit. "It wouldn't be necessary if you didn't keep injuring yourself."

Vanja shrugged fatalistically. "My job, it is dangerous. There is nothing that can be done for it."

"Your cavalier attitude doesn't exactly help," the medic snapped. "You could have stunned him instead of throwing yourself up on the stage to get beat about the face."

"What will we do about Rã?" Satya interrupted. Both women turned to her in surprise, as if they'd forgotten she was there.

"Tonight?" Vanja shook her head. "Nothing. Finish processing these curfew breakers, then return to the compound." She sighed. "I have... much paperwork. We will get him the next time, do not fear Vaswani."

Satya wanted to protest, insist that they should search door to door for any sign of the DJ. But she knew Vanja was making the correct decision. They were all tired, some of them injured, and even if they were to continue looking for Rã, they had no leads. But her failure, yet again, was a bitter pill to swallow.


End file.
